Everybody's Free
by Caffie
Summary: Things nearly always make more sense when your legs are thrown over the back of the couch. Tonks muses on an idle Tuesday


  
I was sat watching dust settle on the floor. It can be quite the absorbing habit, you know, especially if you do it upside down. 

Things nearly always make more sense when your legs are thrown over the back of the couch. The only things that dont make sense when it that position are the kind of things that arent ever going to make sense anyway. The kind of perennial problems that hit you at four o'clock on some idle Tuesday, the kind of things that never cross your worried mind.

Or maybe they do. I find more and more things are apt to cross my worried mind these days, a product of the society we're in I suppose.

My scarf is almost suffocating in this position, its fallen right over my nose and normally that would do my nut in. I cant bring myself to care today though.

Cant bring myself to care about a lot of things, really. Getting used to it all, battle weary and hardened. Occasionally, in my darkest times, I do wonder why we bother.  
Its an everyday struggle, times like this are getting rarer and rarer, days off and sleep are nigh on unheard of.

I wish I could say I was wasting my precious time for relaxation sleeping. helping. working. Not being sat upside down on a shoddy old couch in a smelly old house, watching dust settle.   
The reality though is I am. And the reason I am is, quite honestly, borderline ridiculous. There's a certain strength I get, just from knowing he's around here. He could be several floors down, he could be down the street, he could be in that hellish werewolf den, risking his neck yet again, he could be here with me.   
I wish he was here with me, so much that the concentration hurts sometimes. But that's only in my time off, and that's so rare these days that I rarely get the time to get migranes from impossible wishes. I don't think on the job, daren't sometimes.  
I'm trying very hard to read my book from upside down. Managing only slightly, but slightly is enough to catch a word. _Fenrir_.

I have to admit, for a ditzy little auror I have some interesting obsessions. Everyone assumes I can barely add two and two because I like pink hair and loud music and trying to relax. I'm not an auror for nothing, its damned hard getting here.   
Anyway, my obsessions. Muggle mythology is one. There's life in those stories, constant hardship and wonderous miracles and hope. Hence why, in my sparse time off, I've retreated to the Black library with some of my books, happy to shove them on a shelf and just imagine my precious relations shuddering at the sight of muggle items in the wonderous House of Black walls. Charity shop muggle items at that.

But Fenrir. Norse mythology. I know exactly why that name has caught my eye, and I wish it hadnt. Remus is down there, living amongst them, and I just cant reconcile my Remus with someone like them. He's passionate and wild sometimes, don't get me wrong. Watching him and Sirius rip shreds out of Umbridge, in a purely verbal way of course, was a hilarious sight. And that glint in his eyes sometimes, like a naughty little schoolboy, its like entrapment. I wish I saw that glint more often.

The blood rushing behind my eyes is sickening, and this passage is calling for my attention. Flicking through, the name Fenrir seems all the more apt. There's light at the end of the mythological tunnel though. Ragnarok, and Fenrir gets his come-uppance. That's what I like about myths, stories, fiction, people get what they deserve. I used to be in favour of rehabilititation, helping and curing.

These days, I'm not so sure. Not really sure of anything anymore. I'm spending a fair chunk of my spare time in the muggle world now, figure I have to learn about it properly some day. They seem to know its not all black and white, everything is shades of grey, and I like the ambiguity. I'm not so colourful anymore, and the shades of grey fit.

The dust has settled now, and I cant quite resist the urge to disturb everything again. Everything's so much easier when in motion, perpetual motion leaves little time for brooding, contemplation or acceptance.

The door slams shut behind me, and Grimmauld Place is empty again.


End file.
